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Antonio made a supreme effort to be normal. He kept his eyes on hers. ‘You did ask me to come and see how things were run. That’s exactly what I’m doing.’
The lift came to a halt. The doors slid open. People were waiting outside and Orla’s open mouth closed as she pasted a bright smile on her face and stepped out. Antonio followed. She was stalking down the hall to a door at the end. Vaguely Antonio took in the details of pleasant furnishings, muted classic colours. But he was far more interested in the sway of Orla’s shapely bottom in that tight skirt.
She had opened the door to the suite and was holding it for him, and hating every second by the look on her face. He walked in and her scent tickled his nostrils. Fresh but with a hint of earthy muskiness. Like her. All cool and collected on the outside, but hiding an inner tigress.
He walked in and surveyed the lavish spacious penthouse suite, complete with a terrace patio. It wasn’t as obviously luxurious as the Chatsfield but something about its classic simplicity appealed to him. He heard her cool voice behind him. ‘You know very well that I did not mean that you should come and stay here.’
Antonio curbed his own temper and turned to face her. Still those arms crossed over her chest. He could see a hint of cleavage now though, in the V of that silk material. He gritted his teeth to control his body.
‘If this is how you treat all your guests, then it’s no wonder your business is going down the tubes.’
She flushed at that and Antonio had the bizarre urge to apologise. He noticed again that she looked tired. He knew she was holding the fort as her father hadn’t yet returned from his Asia trip.
Smiling sweetly now, sweetly enough for something to kick in Antonio’s gut, she said, ‘Don’t worry, you’re getting very special personal treatment. If you would be so kind as to let me know how long you’ll be staying we will, of course, ensure that your visit is as pleasant as possible.’
Antonio wanted to scowl at her seasoned impersonal managerial patter. ‘I’m playing it by ear.’
She flushed again, deeper this time, but obviously bit back whatever she really wanted to say. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have appointments to attend to. I’ll send up one of my junior managers to give you a tour.’
Antonio rejected that outright. ‘Orla …’ he said warningly.
She turned from where she’d been walking back to the door. Her eyes flashed and there was steel in her tone. ‘Don’t push it, Chatsfield.’ And then she turned and left the suite and Antonio had to admit to a grudging rise of respect. He wasn’t used to people standing up to him.
He went to the French doors and opened them and walked out to the patio, feeling constricted. He had to battle this feeling on a regular basis, still not fully used to being back in a bustling metropolis. He had to get it together where Orla Kennedy was concerned. He put his hands on the stone wall, and looked out over the famous London skyline, soaring into the sunshine.
He’d once had a reputation for being charming and urbane. Along with being a renowned playboy. He’d lived hard and worked hard, intent on keeping his family together, before all his efforts had proved futile. Even then, he’d still been whole—before he’d seen the worst of humanity and had become twisted and blackened inside along the way.
His hands tightened on the stone. Surely there was a sliver of that man left inside him? He smiled grimly. He’d drawn on it the other night when he’d seduced a beautiful sexy stranger in a bar. Maybe it wasn’t so far beneath the surface after all…. He needed to change tactics with Orla and the tactics he envisaged were going to be every bit as low-down and dirty as anything he’d done as a soldier, but infinitely more personally pleasurable.
Orla was tired. She’d spent the whole day yesterday reeling from the shock of having Antonio Chatsfield check into the hotel, terrified he’d appear around a corner at any moment. But there had been no sign of him. One of the junior managers had told her that they’d helped him to set up an office space in the suite, so clearly he was working.
And she’d just managed to get through another day without seeing him. Orla didn’t like to admit that her primary emotion wasn’t relief. It was something far more ambiguous.
Already envisaging taking off her shoes and running a hot bath with lots of bubbles, Orla walked into her office and came to a complete standstill. Antonio Chatsfield was behind her desk, sitting in her chair, reading the weekly report she hadn’t yet had time to read herself, with his feet propped up on her desk, crossed at the ankle.
He didn’t even look up, just said, ‘Your figures aren’t that bad, you know, for a business that’s on its way under.’
Orla walked in and reached across her desk to pluck the report out of Antonio’s fingers. He appeared completely unperturbed. Dressed in an open-necked shirt and dark trousers, the smart clothes still couldn’t hide his virile potency.
Orla had been feeling weary. Now she was zinging with energy. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to stay calm. ‘Can I help you? I trust you’re settling in well?’
Antonio brought his feet down and sat up straight. ‘Your staff have been most solicitous … no doubt instructed well by you.’
Orla counted to ten and said evenly, ‘We treat everyone here the same, Antonio, from the person staying in the budget single room to the VIP guest in the penthouse.’
Antonio stood up and immediately Orla’s breath got choppier.
‘Very commendable.’ His voice held no mockery but Orla stared at him suspiciously. She felt self-conscious even though she was dressed smartly in a cream shirt dress, cinched in with a wide leather belt, and nude heels. Hair pulled back into a low ponytail.
Antonio put his hands in his pockets and regarded her for a moment until Orla started to get hot and said tetchily, ‘What is it? Have I got dirt on my face?’
Antonio’s voice sounded slightly rough around the edges. ‘You could pass for twenty-one.’
Heat zinged through Orla’s pelvis at the lazy sensual look in his eyes, making her grow damp between her legs. She cursed herself and said briskly, ‘Well, I’m a long way off twenty-one. Nine years to be precise. Now if you don’t mind, it’s been a long day and I still have work to do.’
It was a white lie but she wanted this man who was too big, too masculine, too much, out of her space before he saw how brittle he made her feel. He moved around her desk into the office and that only made Orla feel even more tetchy. And then with absolutely no warning, he delivered the bombshell.
‘I’d like to buy you dinner tonight.’
